Wowzer, what a few weeks!

Every once in a while I feel like calling Nicholas Sarkozy (the French President) and asking him if he wants his money back. I went on vacation the 25th of October. I came back to school for the 6th and 7th of November. Then we had a weekend. I worked Monday November 10th. Today, the 11th is a national holiday and I never work Wednesdays. Seriously, where are my responsibilities? Nonetheless, I have had a very eventful few weeks. From a doctor’s visit at the regional hospital (Laon (a city) is the prefecture (seat) of the departement (county) in which I live). It was quite a little adventure getting there. I had planned to take the bus, but when the bus drove right on by the bus stop where I was patiently waiting at 6:30 in the morning, I decided that I had better choose another method of transportation – so I took the more expensive and roundabout train. That little day trip was interesting. Of course, Laon has a beautiful cathedral. I am starting a little collection of lofty breathtaking gothic cathedrals. There are about as many here as there are Kum and Go’s (the classiest of gas station chains) in SW Missouri. My uncle Delton may be interested to know that the Knights Templar built an octagonal chapel in this fortified medieval city. I had to spend the night because my medical visit was first thing in the morning. After being sent the wrong way, ie. into a sick ward, I found my way to the Secretary’s office. Got that little visit rolling with a chest x-ray – seriously France sure treats its nationals well; here I have been in there country for 1 month and they INSIST on checking me for lung cancer.

Then it was off to Paris for a few days. At the hostel I met an American who went to Bates (a New England NESCAC school) before transferring to UVM: small world. Also in my hostel room was a wacky old Frenchman who didn’t speak, he just slept. One evening when I came back to the room at 6ish he was sprawled out on his bed snoring away. The next morning when I came back from breakfast at 9 there he was, still snoring away. I was getting dressed after taking a shower when there came a furious banging at the door. I cracked to ask if everything was alright, this wacky old Frenchman pushed his way into the bathroom went straight for his hairbrush and set about the futile task of taming his wild shock of Einsteinian hair while I stood there in my underwear with a shocked look on my face. I met an Australian mother and son and unwittingly belittled their plan to go to Disneyland Paris, seriously though, why would you want to do that if you just had a few days in Paris? I went to a cocktail party for Barack Obama supporters the Monday night before the election. I was shocked to find that at the swanky bar, that I could never have afforded had it not been free and open to all, there was not an American expat to be found, as I had expected. Instead, it was a room full of hundreds of French people voicing their support for an American presidential candidate. Bizarre. The entertainment was a group of four black American men singing spirituals and gospel standards like Swing Low and Oh Happy Day. The cherry to top off the surreal soiree was the “France for Obama” buttons that I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to buy even though the 5 euro price tag made me cry a little. Who is this Obama that he has people who can’t even vote rallying behind him? After the Obama party, I saw Leonardo Dicaprio on the Champs Elysees (albeit across 8 lanes of traffic, imagine a miniature Leo) during the premiere of his movie, “Body of Lies”. What a wacky wacky city.

I spent the election night in my little high school glued to my computer screen watching MSNBC online. I drank a bottle of (real) champagne when they called the election at 5 am my time. I had been awake the entire evening. Thank goodness for skype and my friends on the other end of the line or else I would have felt like I really had a problem – starting at 5 am is a new one even for me. Over the next few days every person that I knew congratulated me. Everyone here told me that it would be impossible for someone coming from Obama’s origins to ever reach the presidency in France. That made me feel so proud of our country that we can out progressive what I had considered to be on the cutting edge of so many social fronts. Friday, I prepared a little article about Obama and the elections for one of my classes. They are really weak though, I forgot about that fact. I included the quotation from his acceptance speech where he promised his girls a puppy. It was wasted on these kiddos though. I asked, “You don’t know what a puppy is???” Someone ventured a guess, “It is a poupee? (the French word for doll)” “NO!! Come on now, it’s not a freaking doll. It’s a baby dog for God’s sake!” I didn’t say that, but I wanted to, so badly.

Friday, for my birthday, some teachers took me out for my birthday at restaurant in town. I started with a glass of Champagne. It must have gone straight to my head because my tongue just let loose. My French has been steadily improving over the past month, but I had a series of serious setbacks – I just was talking to fast to keep up with myself. Within the period of the 2 and half hour dinner my French friends informed me, after I had recounted a conversation earlier in the day, that I had told O. (a middle-aged lady who works in the science laboratory) that I wanted to have sex with her. My intention was to simply say, “I’m hot.” I had just returned from a long run. My face turned a shade of red to be sure. Then, they asked Kira and I if we had started dreaming in French. I reached for the wrong word (wanting the word for conversation), I grabbed the word for relationship and said, “I have sex in French in my dreams.” My face turned a second shade of red. Then, discussing class, I informed them that I took small groups of students and worked with them individually. Strike three. Apparently the way in which I formed the sentence translates as, “I take small groups of students and have sex with them.” My face turned that 3rd shade of red. The external manifestations of this embarrassment were the glass of water that I knocked on the floor, the forkfull of food that I dropped on my cuff and the carafe of water that I knocked over and which proceeded to fill Kira’s plate rendering the floating remnants of her salad thoroughly unappetizing and in the end, inedible. My food was good though.

Today, I went to the grocery store and went through the checkout line only to be told (in a not so nice tone) that I was in the easy-pass line and she wanted to see my easy-pass card. I showed her my card and she said, “That’s not your easy-pass card, that’s a fidelity card. You have to buy an easy pass card so you can use these lines, it’s a privilege. You getting in front of all these people who have their easy-pass cards is not nice.” After refusing to accept my apology and giving me a long long scowl she checked me out after I assured her that I would never do it again. Sheesh, how do you say bitch in French again? This afternoon, I had lunch with my friend Guillaume who is learning and speaks pretty excellent English. He has some problems with pronunciation though. Imagine: we have many more vowel sounds than they do in French - many don’t even really exist. Plus, you can’t know how a vowel is pronounced just by reading the word. You can’t even surmise how the vowel might be pronounced by looking at a similar word. Take the example of the word country. I think that is the word Guillaume had in the back of his mind when he said, “Count”. My eyes got wide, and I immediately told him that he could never ever say that again.